


throwing pebbles

by AppleJuiz



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - High School, Banter, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleJuiz/pseuds/AppleJuiz
Summary: Jake likes pulling Amy's pigtails. Just enough to shift the band out of place by a few millimeters. Just enough to get her attention, get her to whip her head around and glare at him.It's fun annoying her.It all really explodes from there.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, per usual I have so many other things to do but spent the past three days writing a Peraltiago fic based around the idea of Jake literally pulling on Amy's pigtails. I'm actually really happy with it even if my GPA is not, and I hope you enjoy it.

K.

  
At five, Jake’s life is simple if uninspired. He goes to school that’s not really school yet. He scribbles on the pages of coloring books, scratches out attempts at letters and numbers, builds structurally unsound block towers and the highlight of his day is their twenty minute snack time.

  
Amy is the opposite of everything he is. He notices her the first day of kindergarten because she’s new, she wasn’t in preschool with the rest of them. She’s weird, he decides, almost immediately. Her life has purpose, every minute of her day means something. She has plans and logical reasoning skills. She organizes her perfectly sharpened crayons on the edge of her desk alphabetically by color name, colors every project perfectly inside the lines, putting the appropriate colors in the right shapes. Her letters take a little extra time but end up perfect, neat between the lines and she grins smugly.

  
Jake finds a purpose in annoying her.

  
He switches the order of her colors and waits for her to scowl at him. He draws a single dot right outside the outline of her coloring page. He hogs up the sharpener when her pencils are dull and moves the roof of her block house just a centimeter to the right. Sometime he just exists near her, doing things sloppily and breaking the rules and watching as she winces and leans away from him like his attitude is contagious.

  
He likes the way her face screws up, but he especially likes when she tries not to smile. On rare occasions she just grins at him and he feels like maybe school isn’t all that bad.

  
4.

  
Cops and robbers is a favorite at recess this year. Amy always fights to be a cop. Her skin crawls at the idea of rule breaking even fictional and unspecified ones. Jake doesn’t seem to care much either way so sometimes they face off.

  
He likes taunting her. He thinks he’s better than her at the game which is not true. She proves it in the middle of March when she fully body tackles him to the ground and he has to go to the nurse for his skinned knee.

  
She apologized but he seems to be too fascinated with his new scar to care.

  
3.

  
Amy Santiago is nothing if not organized. But she’s also competitive.

  
And Jake knows this. And she knows he knows. Either way, it ends them up in the same place every recess, with him throwing an arm around her shoulder and making a bet.

  
“I bet you can’t swing higher than me.”

  
“I bet you can’t eat more Gushers than me.”

  
She knows it’s dumb and dangerous and she shouldn’t but there’s this thing that washes over her every time he makes a bet. This competitive beast that tells her rational, cautious brain to throw all reasoning to the wind and get to the top of the monkey bars as fast as she physically can.

  
Today, Jake interrupts her bonding time with Rosa- They’re sitting silently, which drives her nuts, but Rosa did say hi, so she thinks they’re making progress- to say, “ I bet you all my snack money for the week that you can’t jump further off the Ledge than I can.”

  
The Ledge is exactly that. A concrete ledge that runs along the edge of the school’s yard. On the other side of the yard’s fence there’s a small grassy valley, dropping steeply down three feet from the top of the Ledge.

  
She knows it’s dumb, and there’s her brain saying, “Hey, Amy, don’t do it. That’s super dumb.”

  
That voice is suddenly Rosa’s, who speaks up for the first time all recess to say, “That’s super dumb.”

  
And then Jake says, “Super dumb is my specialty.”

  
And then their friends are all gathered around the bottom of the valley while she and Jake stand on the Ledge at it’s highest point. Charles’s has a lunchbox ready to mark of the distance to beat, and Gina has her camera and Rosa has her arms crossed.

  
Jake jumps first, diving spectacularly, pushing off with all his might. He lands three and a quarter feet from the Ledge.

  
“Did you even try?” She asks, and he sticks his tongue out, brushing dirt and grass clumps off his jeans.

  
She steps as far back as she can, bends her knees. Jake winks at her and she launches herself into the air. For a moment time freezes and she feels like she’s flying. The ground isn’t too far down but it feels like miles. She sees her friends below and the way they’re staring at her. She sees Jake’s lunchbox marker and how she can totally beat it. She sees the sky and feels like she’s closer to the clouds than she’s ever been.

  
Her brain stops freaking out and says, “Good idea, Amy.”

  
And then she falls. She lands on her leg harder than anticipated, and pain shoots through her, but she doesn’t scream. Something made a sound because suddenly everyone is around her, in varying stages of panic.

  
Her leg feels like it’s being stabbed a million times and she can’t really move it, but she can struggle to a seated position. Jake is right in her face, looking actually concerned, kneeling next to her in the dirt, gripping her arm tightly.

  
Charles is running off to get the nurse. Gina is laughing a little, but it’s mostly fake, and Rosa looks almost shocked. She glances around her and spots the lunchbox that was his marker and sees that she passed it.

  
She looks up and meets his eyes, grinning victoriously. “I beat you.”

  
He gapes at her and then the nurse arrives to carry her back into the office.

  
***

  
She broke her leg. Her brain is not mad, it’s just disappointed, but she’s still living off the adrenaline of the jump and the rush of victory. She gets a blue cast and she’s actually excited.

  
She’s never had a cast before. The only time she’s seen one was when Jake broke his arm in the second grade. She got to sign it, in neat loopy script that she just learned. He grinned at her, and smiled smugly the entire time he wore it, like a battle scar. He got it from running away from a bee in the park and she never hesitates to remind him that.

  
She even gets crutches and she knows he’ll be so jealous, and that Rosa will probably use them as a weapon before the week is over.

  
When she gets back to school the next day, she’s suddenly the most popular girl in the third grade. Everyone wants to sign her cast, so she pulls out her marker set, the one she set aside for sharing, separate from her personal ones.

  
Jake is the first one to sign, pushing everyone out of the way, claiming it was only because of him that she broke her leg so he gets to go first. His handwriting is atrocious, too big and slants down. She winces as he scribbles out his name, and the teacher thinks it’s because it hurts so she tells everyone to sit down.

  
At lunch, Rosa sits next to her and doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t steal her crutches, but Jake does, chasing Charles around the yard, while she sits with her arms crossed, glaring at him.

  
The next day, he comes over with a new bet, grinning deviously.

  
“I bet I could sit down for longer than you can,” he announces, and Rosa rolls her eyes.

  
She agrees, even though she knows he’s throwing this one to her. It’s kinda sweet. And she still count it as a win.

  
1.

  
He hates sitting at desks all day. But he finds a certain joy in sending paper airplanes soaring when the teacher turns around and hitting Amy’s arm.

 

  
7.

  
Amy is by no means lonely. She may not be the most popular person in the world and she has no desire to be. She has a few good friends, a few acceptable acquaintances and is cordial with the rest of her classmates.

  
The problem is none of her good friends like speech and debate (but she does, obsessing over preparing an organized packet of notes, highlighting key phrases, coded with the color system she devised in the fourth grade), and all of her acceptable acquaintances have their own good friends, and it looks like she’s going to be the weirdo, sitting alone on the bus ride to the school in Manhattan where the tournament is.

  
And then she sees Jake. She doesn’t think about it for more than a second. She’d been standing frozen at the front of the bus, causing a bit of a traffic and getting a glare from the bus driver. So she sees Jake and marches down the aisle of the bus and squeezes into the seat next to him, pulling her bag with her giant binder and packet of papers onto her lap.

  
He glances over at her, as shocked to see her as she is to see him.

  
She’s pretty sure he isn’t on the speech team. She’s pretty sure she’d notice something like that. Not to mention Jake’s idea of a speech is reciting the monologue from Braveheart.

  
“Swimming,” he explains, pointing to his sports bag, blue and gold embroidered letters pronouncing him apart of the 6/7 M.S. 99 Boy’s Swim Team.

  
Right, they're competing at the same school, sharing a bus.

  
“Debate,” she says, gesturing to the binder. He grins, and she regrets saying anything at all.

  
“Nerd,” he teases, but it's not a mean thing. “Color coded?”

  
“I’m not an animal,” she responds immediately. “And you were making fun of me.”

  
He nods, grinning wider. He holds out an neon blue earbud to her, the other stuffed in his ear.

  
She takes it a little gratefully. Sometimes before these competitions, she gets too caught up, panics a little, afraid she'll forget everything she'd planned even though that's ridiculous, she's recited these points in her sleep. There's also a moment when the competition beast inside her starts to take over, and she'll do something dumb and mean.

  
“Taylor Swift?” She asks, totally judging him for it. He smiles unapologetically.

  
“Um, duh,” he says. “She's the greatest artist of our generation.” Amy snorts. “And she totally gets me amped.”

  
“Swimming?” She echoes, because she doesn't remember hearing about him joining the team. He shrugs, bobs his head along to the beats.

  
“It's something to do on the weekend.” Which means he probably cares about it, but she lets it slide.

  
He doesn't bother her after that, just nods along to the music, adds in extravagant dance moves and facial expressions for her benefit no doubt.

  
Then the bus arrives at the school and everyone gathers their stuff and starts filing out. He takes his headphones back, crumpling them into his pocket and they're totally gonna knot up… not that she cares, not that it makes her hand fidget just a little.

  
He looks over at her like he knows exactly how much it bothers her. “Well, good luck, nerd.”

  
“Good luck, sports… guy,” she retorts and he laughs at her. She slings her bag over her shoulder and shoved her way to the front of the bus and out the door, lining up with the rest of the team on the curb.

  
Jake rushes off to join the clump of swimmers and she watches him until he disappears into the gym building. The teacher supervisor of the debate team leads them in the opposite direction and she mentally goes over each of her topics and corresponding arguments and evidence.

  
She comes in first in her room, third in the overall competition and it makes her twitch just a little, but she gets a trophy so it's fine. (It's a smaller trophy but that doesn't matter. It's totally fine. She's not angry and she didn't consider sending the judges strongly worded emails.)

  
It's dark out in the parking lot and a little spooky as she lugs everything with her into the bus. She doesn't face the same panic of where to sit, can't make out any faces, just the occasional blue glow of a cell phone. Halfway to the back of the bus, where she plans to collapse and breathe deeply, a hand grabs her wrist and tugs her onto the bench.

  
It's Jake, beaming.

  
“We won!” He announces smugly. “I saved you a seat next to a winner.”

  
“That's great,” she says, patting his arm, and situating herself in the seat.

  
“Oh hey,” he says, eyes landing on her stupid puny third place trophy. “Wow. Congrats.”

  
“I got third,” she admits, sounding more disgusted that she means to. He rolls his eyes, snatches her trophy away to examine it deeper.

  
“Congratulations, loser,” he says, shaking his head. The bus starts up and bumps it's way out of the parking lot. “I came in fifth in my race.”

  
She wants to apologize but she feels like he's not too disappointed about it. So instead she grins a little at him. “So I beat you, is what you're saying.”

  
“It's not even comparable,” he protests, but weakly because he's beaming at her like she just did something really funny.

  
“But I beat you.”

  
“Fine,” he concedes. “You beat me. But you still only came in third.”

  
She shoves his arm playfully, and he pushes her back.

  
“Don't worry,” he says. “You'll always come in first place in my heart, Santiago.”

  
“That means nothing to me.”

  
It does make her feel a little better though. She yanks the trophy back and stuffs it in her bag. He offers her the other side of headphones again, and she makes a big show of considering before grabbing it from him.

  
The drive home in twenty seven minutes long and he serenades her with Taylor Swift music the entire time.

  
And if her chest feels a little fluttery she'll blame it on Taylor because really there's something to be said about her music.

  
2.

  
His dad leaves.

  
It's a thing. It happens. His dad leaves and then he thinks about it and then he stops thinking about it. Not too many people know at first, but then he gets some looks from people, like they're sad for him and it just makes him angry.

  
It's fine. It happened. His dad left. He moves on and he thinks the entire world should to because it's not a big deal.

  
Well, things are a little different. Like sometimes there's no one at school on time to pick him up on Thursdays. He's one of the last kids left so he sits on the front steps of the school with a teacher, one of the ones who smile at him sadly. A car pulls up and another kid runs off, and on and on and he's still there because his mom is held up at work.

  
It's fine. He kicks a rock back and forth on the concrete. It's fun. He's fine.

  
His eyes are stinging just a little and then another kid leaves and it's just him and… He glances over to his right. Amy.

  
He's a little surprised to see her. She has two parents and seven brothers and he thinks that her house isn't as quiet and lonely as his is now.

  
She waves a little timidly and can probably see that… His allergies are acting up. She doesn't say anything though, or give him a sad look.

  
She does scoot down a step so they're a little closer and holds out a book. It makes him laugh.

  
She rolls her eyes and turns back to her book, balancing it on her knees. He feels a little better, knowing he's not completely alone.

  
A few minutes later another car pulls up, a huge grey minivan. Amy looks up but doesn't move.

  
A woman rolls down the window closer to the curb and shouts something in Spanish. Amy shouts something back and her mother huffs and leans back in her seat.

  
Jake looks over at her and she offers him a shrug.

  
His grandma’s car rolls up behind Amy's mom’s gratefully only a few minutes after. They get up at the same time and Jake says, “Thanks.” He feels kinda dumb about it.

  
“I just wanted to finish my chapter,” Amy explains, tucking the book closed around her finger. “See you tomorrow.”

  
He does see her the next day at the after school program. He starts going more often so his mom can work a little later and most of the time he's there, she's also there.

  
“Seven siblings,” she explains to him one day. “It takes her a while to collect them all.”

  
He's surprised by it, but nods like he isn't.

  
They fight over what Disney movie the teacher should put on.

  
10.

  
He thinks he’s imagined her. He’s not drunk enough to do that though. He’s only had a beer and a half, just slightly tipsy. He doesn’t plan to get drunk either because he’s not totally dumb.

  
Anyway he thinks there are dozens of girls at their school and at this party with a tight dark brown ponytail and that particular red sweater, but he just associates those things with Amy Santiago. It’s a school night. There’s no way.

  
And then she shifts in her seat, turning slightly and holy shit, Amy Santiago is at a party, with alcohol, on a Thursday night.

  
He thinks this is the most surreal moment of his entire life.

  
“Amy Santiago,” he calls, pushing through the small clutter of people between him and the kitchen’s breakfast bar where she’s sitting.

  
She spins around to look at him, and her shoulders immediately slump.

  
“As I live and breathe,” he gasps, dropping his arm on the marble counter next to her. “Do you know it’s a school night, young lady?”

  
“Shut up, Peralta,” she grumbles, swirling the contents of her plastic cup around before draining the last of it.

  
“Last name? Ames, you wound me,” he says, hand on his chest. She rolls her eyes.

  
“Why are you here?” she asks, squinting at him.

  
“Really? You’re surprised that I’m here?” he asks. “Don’t you have a Chemistry test tomorrow? Shouldn’t you be pouring over your color-coded study guide?”

  
She huffs out a short breath. “I can do fun things, too, you know,” she protests. “And I already did.”

  
“Of course,” he says, and it comes out way too fond. “You don’t look like you’re having too much fun though.”

  
She crosses her arms over her chest, frowning at him. “I’m having so much fun.”

  
He just raises an eyebrow skeptically. That's all it takes for her to crack.

  
“Okay, I’m miserable,” she says. “Happy?”

  
Not really. She’s not done yet though.

  
“I thought for all the hype these parties got, they’d be actually fun, and I could just do something dumb once and have a good time, but instead the music’s too loud and I don’t know anybody here, and someone spilt beer down my shirt and it feels really sticky and gross, and alcohol is not making me happy, just really somber,” she admits, eyes wide and frantic.

  
He wants to laugh. Not because she’s miserable, but because she’s so Amy, it’s hilarious. He manages to stop at a smile, and places his hand on her shoulder.

  
“You know me,” he offers.

  
“What?”

  
“You said you didn’t know anyone here,” he explains. “You know me.”

  
She tilts her head, like she’s considering his words, and then the corner of her mouth turns up a little. “Yeah, I guess. Wish I didn’t sometimes.”

  
He does laugh at that, and then grabs her hand.

  
“Come on,” he says, pulling her to her feet. She resists but only a little.

  
“What’re you-?”

  
“This party sucks anyway,” he says.

  
“You don’t have to look after me. I’m perfectly fine,” she insists.

  
“I know,” he assures her. “But seriously, this is a garbage party for garbage people. We should go start our own.”

  
“Start our own party?” Amy asks skeptically. “What does that even mean? How drunk are you?”

  
“Not nearly enough,” he replies and elbows his way through the crowd towards the front door. The party is pretty shitty. Most of the people here are rude and hanging out with Amy seems a lot more exciting.

  
He hasn't seen her much since they started high school. She's in a lot of honors classes and always sits in the front row, so their paths don't cross that often. They pass each other in the halls sometimes, and he’ll stick his tongue out at her and she'll stick her tongue out at him and they'll share a small grin like they're both thinking about elementary school all of a sudden and their endless carefree days of competing with each other.

  
It's nice.

  
They end up walking over to the soccer field across the street from their old middle school, a block and a half away from the Jacksons’ house. The sound from the party follows them down the block, music floating faintly.

  
The streets are black, light pouring down from the street lamps above, casting them in an orange hue. There's a chill in the air, the slow starts of winter starting to sweep over the city.

  
They're still holding hands as they walk down the street, in the middle of the road because there are too many people cluttered on the sidewalk. It feels nice, and he doesn't want her to notice.

  
But at the same time, it's a little too serious for him, so he needs to diffuse it. He swings their joined hands back and forth dramatically through the air.

  
She glances over at him skeptically, but doesn't pull her hand away. He's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

  
She's a little tipsy and so is he, enough that they carve a swaying path to the center of the soccer field, but it's not too overwhelming. Jake plops down, lying on his back in the middle of the field.

  
She stares at the grass, slightly damp with condensation. He can practically hear her thought process, see her eyes flicked down to the beer stain on her shirt, debating if it's worth it to get more dirty or not.

  
Ultimately she sighs and sits down, lowering herself slowly onto the grass.

  
“Oh God,” she says, wincing. “That looked so much drier.”

  
He chuckles, letting his head fall back against the dirt. Her face smooths about after a few seconds and she settles, tension seeping out of her shoulders. She looks more beautiful out here, a small smile playing over her face. The trees and the lamps cast shadows on her face, and he just stares for a few seconds, marveling at the wonder that is Amy Santiago in the moonlight.

  
“Gotta say, this party is pretty lame, Jake,” she says, glancing over at him. Her face turns a little red when she sees him watching her.

  
“Well, you just got officially uninvited,” he announces. She shakes her head.

  
“I'm the life of this party. You can't uninvited me,” she protests.

  
“That's a hilarious joke, Amy. I'm crying,” he deadpans.

  
“Jokes like that are why I'm the life of the party,” she blurts out, competitive gleam in her eyes. He raises his eyebrows at her. “Yeah, I know. Self burn. I totally proved my point though.”

  
He snorts, and looks away from her. If he doesn't he'll probably do something stupid like talk about how pretty her eyebrows are or how nice she smells.

  
The stars are muted, even out here in the near dark. It’s still New York City and the same dozen stars. Light pollution. He wonders if she's thinking about the light pollution, too, if she's as disappointed and grateful as he is because any more stars in the sky and this would be near romantic.

  
Her hand suddenly envelopes his again, her fingers lacing through his and his palms are a little too sweaty for this.

  
“So are you gonna tell me why?” He asks, in a whisper. Because his brain is screaming ‘Abort! Abort!’ And this is all getting too close to feelings, and feelings on a good day are bad. He doesn't even want to think about feelings with Amy, all alone with the quarter moon lighting her hair.

  
“Well, I guess it’s mostly because I feel so sorry for you. I mean if it wasn't for me, you'd be all alone in the middle of a soccer field like a creep,” she replies. She's impossible. He's way too in love with her.

  
“I mean, why Amy Santiago is breaking the rules and coming to a big bad high school party?” He asks. He doesn't even tease back. God, what is up with him tonight?

  
She silent for a while, but her hand stays in his, warm and soft, super soft. He's debating asking her what moisturizer she uses and forgetting his previous question all together.

  
“I guess I was just curious,” she says slowly. “I mean, everyone seems to go out of their way to tell me what a boring stick in the mud I am so I figure I must be missing out on something great. But it kinda sucks.”

  
“You know, they only make fun because they're jealous,” he offers, but it sounds weird and fake.

  
“I've seen afterschool specials before, Jake,” she says, smirking. “They're act all too cool for school but in reality I'm cool because I like school, and that's why they hate me.”

  
“No, they hate you because you're over competitive and annoying,” he says and she snorts.

  
“Thanks,” she says.

  
“I'm serious. That's why I made fun of you when we were younger,” he says. “You were always the teacher’s pet and the hall monitor. You had your entire life together at age 8. You had your mortgage plan ready in the sixth grade. You cared about things, and that's super hard and scary, especially when you’re so loud about it. And everyone else does dumb things to seem like they don't care, but you don't. You don't have to be.”

  
“You're drunk,” Amy decides.

  
“Not nearly enough,” he says and she grins at him. “Anyway. Amy Santiago doesn't need to go to parties. She's too good for the likes of them.”

  
“And you're not?” Amy asks, voice soft.

  
“Oh no, I am too. That's why I'm here. With you,” he says. She looks over at him, clearly waiting for an explanation. He smiles, staring up at the sky. “I'm Gina’s chaperone for the night.”

  
She snorts. And then exhales sharply again. Her chest shakes, and he can tell she's trying not to laugh out loud but it's a struggle.

  
“That's so lame,” she wheezes.

  
He gasps, placing his hand on his chest. “How dare you, Santiago?”

  
She keeps laughing and he digs his elbow into her side, and then watches, slightly amazed, totally enamored, a little bit in love.

  
They lay in silence after that. The peaceful kind and he breathes deep and decides to enjoy it instead of planning some joke or prank.

  
“What time is it?” She asks, voice a little raspy.

  
“Time to get a watch,” he responds.

  
“That was terrible. I think you're losing your touch.”

  
“It's 11:47,” he answers, tucking his phone back away. Gina hasn't been looking for him so he assumes she's still having a good time. She sits up slowly, pulling her knees to her chest. “I should get going.”

  
She sounds disappointed about it, but he gets it.

  
“Let me guess,” he says. “You just realized you may have forgotten to review molecular… Color? Is that a thing?”

  
“Nope,” she replies.

  
“But…”

  
“But I forgot if we needed to memorize strong acids and bases,” she admits guiltily.

  
He grins. “You're so consistent.”

  
“Thanks?” She says, like she's not sure if it's a good thing. He's pretty sure it is.

  
“Let me walk you to the door, Miss Santiago,” he says, grunting as he scrambles to his feet. He holds his hand out to her like a gentleman, but she pushes herself up without his help.

  
She does loop her arm through his as they walk though.

  
“Thanks for coming to my party,” he says.

  
“Thanks for inviting me,” she replies. And then some more silence. They reach the goal post and the edge of trees that surround the field. They stop at the same time and Amy turns to him, staring at him hard.

  
He's never been a fan or direct eye contact and this is exactly why. It feels like she's reading his soul with her laser eyes, like she's searching for something and he doesn't know if she'll find it.

  
He wants to make a joke but his voice and breath is caught in his throat. She steps towards him and his brain stops processing what's happening because he can't make sense of it.

  
Her hand cups his cheek and she presses her mouth to his and his heart stops for .4 seconds before he presses closer to her. He brings his hand up, resting it between her shoulder blades, and kisses her back, pulling her lower lip between his.

  
She plasters her chest against his, and he falls back a little, hitting his head on the trunk of a tree. He squeezes his eyes shut, and it feels like he’s floating. His whole body is tingling, his hand trembling against her back. Her face is warm, but her nose is cold and it presses into his.

  
He’s just decided that he never wants this moment to end, and also he should probably propose to her, and then she pulls away.

  
They’re back to super intense eye contact, her eyes wide and a little surprised like he’s the one who kissed her out of nowhere. He glances down for half a second, because he’s curious and sure enough her lips are a little red, slick with spit.

  
That was a mistake. He really wants to kiss her again.

  
“Noice,” he says instead, and she raises her eyebrows, nose scrunching up. “I mean… Thanks.” No, that was also the wrong thing to say. Holy shit, he was bad at this.

  
He reaches out on instinct and tugs on her ponytail. She still looks really confused, and a little like a deer in headlights.

  
“Um,” she says slowly. And he feels like he’s exploding. He has no idea what to do, how to make this situation make sense. “I’m gonna go.”

  
“Cool,” he says. “Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool, cool.”

  
She smiles at him, a little hesitant and unsure and then turns and walks away. She glances back once, and he’s still standing there, back pressed up against the tree like an idiot. She smiles, and then she’s turning the corner and disappearing from sight.

  
5.

  
She gets detention once in her entire life and it's all Jake’s fault. He's sitting next to her in math and passes her a note in flagrant disrespect of the classroom rules and the teacher turns around as she's shoving it back at him.

  
She tries to plead her case but for some reason, despite being a perfect angel, the math teacher doesn't like her. So she gets detention.

  
She almost punched Jake after class.

  
“Was it really worth it?” She demands, hissing through her teeth. He holds out the note, the word ‘Butts’ in curly cursive, and she takes it as a yes.

  
K.

  
He starts pulling on her pigtails a month after she joins their class. It's a surefire way to annoy her, get her nose to wrinkle. She huffs her breath out sharply, and her hands immediately go up to remake the pigtail even though it's exactly the same.

  
There's something in him that just finds it so satisfying. Like when he knocks over a block tower or steals chips from Gina’s lunchbox. There's something inherently exciting about getting a rise out of Amy Santiago.

  
He never does it too hard like he sees some of the other, meaner boys do. Just enough to shift the band out of place by a few millimeters. Just enough to get her attention, get her to whip her head around and glare at him, lower lip jutting out.

  
He's always out of range before she can punch him in the arm though she rarely tries too. He knows it annoys her, enough for her to glare at him for the rest of the day, but not too much, because she never tells on him to the teacher and if he doesn't do it again for more than a few days she looks at him all weird like he's grown a second head or something.

  
Then there's Jimmy Figgis.

  
Jimmy Figgis is a butthead. That's a word on their classroom’s banned list of words, but Jake doesn't care because it's true.

  
Jimmy is mean. And one day, Jake glances over, wondering what stupid thing he can do to annoy Amy today when Jimmy Figgis yanks on her hair so hard her head jerks back.

  
She turns around, fury on her face, and stomps on Jimmy’s foot with all her might. And then Jake is next to her, but he doesn't remember walking over. He shoves Jimmy Figgis and the bully topples over, crashing into Charles’s block tower.

  
He feels bad about the tower, but Amy looks over at him and smiles, and it's kinda worth it.

  
They get sent to the principal’s office. All three of them even though the teacher only wanted to send Jake and Jimmy. Amy's one of her favorites. Amy's always the teacher’s favorite, he notices.

  
Amy's actually the one who insists on going to the principal with them, after failing to clear Jake’s name in the classroom. So they sit outside on the bench where the bad students sit, while the principal calls Jimmy Figgis’ parents.

  
He can tell she's really freaking out sitting out here, that the bravado she displayed in the classroom was quickly fading now that they were actually seeing the principal. It’s kinda funny but also not. She hasn’t even fixed her hair, and it bothers him. She just sits there, face pale, eyes wide, staring panicked at the doors along the hall like she’s terrified someone will come out and see her here.

  
He wants to comfort her, but he’s never been good at that. He could try to annoy her, distract her, but he feels like that wouldn’t help now.

  
“Here,” he says, grabbing her drooping pigtail and redoing it with little finesse. He reties the band, and it’s not symmetrical but it looks a little better than before. He feels immensely proud for a few seconds and Amy stares over at him, a little confused and maybe grateful too.

  
They share a small smile, and some tension seems to seep out of her shoulders.

  
She even makes it a good minute before her hands jump up to redo the work he did, as discreetly as she can, but fixing her hair back to symmetrical perfection. It makes her sit a little straighter, and he acts wounded for a while, but it makes him feel better to see her confident again.

  
She marches into the principal’s office with her head held high. Jimmy Figgis doesn’t get any sweet snacks at lunch for the rest of the week.

  
10.

  
She freaks out for about a half hour in her room, not reaching full panic, but coming a little too close a few times.

  
She has no idea why she did that. Why she kissed him. Jesus, she just kissed Jake. It’s been a wild night and she tries to blame it on that but it’s not true. She wishes she had kissed him at the Jackson’s party. That way she could pretend she was drunk or crazy.

  
But no. She had to kiss him at the quiet sober party he made for the two of them.

  
She wonders if she just ruined a decade of friendship, competitive, childish, meaningful friendship. She wonders if the next time they see each other in the halls they’ll just look away awkwardly and her entire day will be ruined.

  
She forgets to go over her Chemistry study guide, forgets to put together her to do list for the next day, just drains an entire water bottle and collapses into her bed.

  
The next day, she’s not exactly feeling better, but she does drag herself out of bed, has a nutritious breakfast and gets to school a half hour early.

  
She decides to not think about Jake, which of course just makes her think of Jake and their kiss, and the burning heat his hand left on her back. She grips her packet of papers tight in her hand, trying desperately to forget about the park and the flickering streetlamp.

  
Strong acids: HCl, HI…

  
She’s staring at the same chart for maybe ten minutes when someone drops down on the seat next to hers by the small window desk.

  
She turns, and sure enough, it’s Jake, grinning boyishly at her. There are purple smudges under his eyes, like he slept as restlessly as she did. There’s also an orange stain on the front of his shirt that she’s not going to ask about.

  
“Want me to quiz you?” He offers, and she almost kisses him again right there. But she really can’t mess up this Chem test, so she hands him her laminated study guide, but not before pouring a copious amount of hand sanitizer in his palms.

  
She explains the color system. He ignores it.

  
8.

  
Jake reaches the point where he's not going to deny that he thinks Amy is cute and maybe has a crush on her. He's not going to admit it and he's not going to tell her but he won't openly deny it.

  
They get paired as lab partners for science and he tries not to look to happy about it.

  
She looks angry but not in the serious way. He smiles as he drops into the seat next to her and she turns on him immediately.

  
“This is a state test year,” she says. “You will not screw this up for me.” She punctuated each word with a stern pole to his chest.

  
“Come on, we're just dissecting an owl pellet. How hard can it be? I bet you I can dissect it faster than you can,” he announces.

  
“No,” she says sternly. “We can't go fast or we’ll break the bones of the mice.”

  
He stares between her and the grey lump on the metal tray. “What?”

  
She groans, slumping forward and leaning her elbows against the table.

  
“You do know what an owl pellet is, right?” She asks. “We've been reading about them for the past week.”

  
“Um… Of course, but why don't you just give me a quick refresher?” He says.

  
She ends up doing the entire dissection while he cowers behind her. She's gets them an A and he almost throws up.

  
She grins though at some of his antics and he feels satisfied and also a little fluttery.

  
11.

  
They're not dating.

  
She’s not sure how she feels about that, but they’re not. They only kissed that first time in the soccer field. And sure they spend a whole lot more time together, but they never talked about it and they haven’t kissed again, so they can’t be dating.

  
She thinks about it though, for too long when she should be doing other important things. She ends up making a list. Things she and Jake do now that may make it seem like they’re dating even though they seriously aren’t. Like seriously.

  
They sit together in the library. She never thought she’s see the day when Jake Peralta regularly went to a library, but he does now, sitting next to her in the cozy little window nook. She does homework and studying and every other studious thing she has to while he goofs around, stealing her white out to spell curse words in their english books, quietly swapping the order of her colored highlighters to see how long it takes her to notice (she notices immediately and glares at him while she fixes it).

  
He comes to all of her track meets and screams from the stands louder than everyone. He takes her out for ice cream after every time, even if she loses. And sometimes he steals her team jacket and parades around school with it on, too tight around his arms and short on his torso.

  
She gets texts at midnight inviting her to his “Peralta parties” and they sit in the same soccer field and talk about serious things and he makes minimal jokes. She acts like she doesn’t think about kissing him again and wonders if he does the same thing.

  
They watch Die Hard together. She’s not sure why this counts but it does. It’s just a movie, but for Jake it’s like a religious experience. She feels like she’s seen the movie before, but doesn’t remember it, and she can’t really focus on it either because Jake wraps his arm around her shoulder and leans into her and little towards the TV. His eyes go wide with wonder and excitement and he mouths along to the entire script yet still acts like every moment is an exciting surprise. She thinks she falls a lit bit in love with him at that moment.

  
Then there’s the looks. He just stares at her sometimes, something in his eyes, something significant, not teasing. It’s fondness but more. She knows she looks at him the same way sometimes. She thinks they both know what’s going on, but aren’t sure about how to proceed.

  
And things are great the way they are. He’s a good friend. He makes her laugh. But there’s this hint of something more, just around the corner, and she just wants to reach it.

  
Also he asks her to prom. That's the last thing on the list. He comes into the library on a Tuesday, nudges her and says, “I bet I can get a better grade on our Physics test.”

  
She laughs at him. Physics is a terribly hard class, even she struggles to keep up. Jake checked out around the time syllabuses were handed out on the first day of class.

  
“What're we betting on?” She asks, because it's been awhile since they've had a bet, so it must be about something.

  
“If I win, you have to come to prom,” he says. She glances up from the essay she'd been working on.

  
They'd talked about it before. She didn't want to go. She didn't like parties, a quiet night at home with her homework sounded a lot nicer. Plus it was junior prom. That was so lame. Jake did want to go and had spent the past week whining about how boring it would be without her.

  
“If I win?” She asks.

  
“I don't go to prom. I do whatever boring thing you're doing,” he offers.

  
“Deal,” she says, and turns back to her essay. She doesn't think she'd be disappointed either way, and she wonders if he feels the same.

  
He seems to want to win. She sees him open a textbook. It's a surreal sight. He borrows her study guide, uses a highlighter. He scribbled down notes in physics, actually pays attention in the class. She's amazed. And a little turned on.

  
They take the test, and she keep glances at him out of the corner of her eye. He's hunched over the paper, scratching out the calculations and she turns back to her test, stunned. If it wasn't going to be factored into her GPA she'd consider throwing it. But it does, so she throws herself into the questions.

  
The next day she walks into the class and there's a gathering around the teacher’s desk. Jake has his paper in hand and is standing right next to the desk where another test lies, face down.

  
She marches over. He slides the paper across the table to her and she picks it up, covering the score until the paper is facing her. She glances down briefly.

  
“Ladies first,” Jake offers, staring at her like the rest of the world has dropped away.

  
“94,” she says, standing straight. A light breaks across his face.

  
“96,” he announces, turning the paper around and then flinging it away. “Charles!”

  
A rain of confetti paper floats down from the ceiling, she's not sure from where. The projector behind them starts playing a Celine Dion song. It's ridiculous and she fights to keep a straight face.

  
He drops to one knee in front of her, holds out a plastic ring that looks like it won't even fit her.

  
“Amy Santiago, will you go to prom with me?” He asks, looking up at her earnestly but also goofily. She knows he's actually asking though. The bet specified that she had to go to prom, not go to prom with him. After years, the exact wording of bets is something he treats with utter seriousness.

  
“Fine,” she says, but smiles at him. He shoves the ring onto her pinkie finger and stands. “Now can you turn off the music?”

  
K.

  
Okay, so maybe it’s not just that pulling on her pigtails annoys her.

  
Well, yes, it does, and Jake thinks it’s funny. But after a while it turns into an inside joke, because he does it and then she glares and he runs away from her and then they exchange a grin across the room like they’re both in on this secret.

  
But her hair is so soft and pretty and it’s a nice feeling in his hand for half a second. It’s a fun game, and he doesn’t think about it too much, doesn’t have to because he’s five years old and Amy Santiago’s soft hair means nothing in the big picture of snacks and toys and kindergarten.

  
So he doesn’t think about it then, and years later, part of him is still ignoring the fact that Amy Santiago’s hair is super soft and he likes how it feels in his hands.

  
11.

  
He's nervous. He knows it's a bit of a joke. Hell, he made it a joke.

  
It's still prom though. With Amy. (“Junior prom,” her voice corrects in his head. “That's super lame.”) He has a suit. He's borrowing his mom’s car. It feels like a big deal and he's kinda regretting it because they could be doing something not so serious and he could keep living in this tentative breezy space they've created.

  
But instead he drives to her house and knocks on her door and makes small talk with her parents and gets glares from her brothers. And then Amy walks downstairs, looking immaculate. The ends of her hair are curled and her dress is sparkly and he's probably drooling.

  
She rolls her eyes when she sees him, says goodbye to her parents and then they're in his car.

  
“I was gonna get a limo,” he says. “But then I realized how much the suit was and remembered that I’m broke, so…”

  
She snorts. “What would we even do with a limo?”

  
“You have no creativity, Santiago,” he replies. She's wearing the plastic ring on her pinkie and he almost crashes the car pulling out of the parking spot.

  
“So how'd you do it?” She asks.

  
“Do what?” He asks, feeling a little dumb and not in the fun way.

  
“The physics test?” She says. Obviously.

  
“Oh. I used your cheat sheet,” he admits and she sits a little straighter in her seat.

  
“The pneumatic devices? They work don't they?”

  
“They're super lame,” he says. “But yeah, they're easy to remember.”

  
“Well… you can borrow them again in the future,” she offers.

  
“Oh, no way. I just really wanted to get you to come to prom,” he confesses and then turns a little red. He can see her blushing too in the mirror.

  
“Cool,” she says, clearing her throat. He laughs a little awkwardly and then tries to focus on driving.

  
The gymnasium is decorated, barely. There's streamers and a snack table and a DJ playing shitty dance remixes to songs from the radio. Amy winces the second they walk in the door.

  
He gets her to dance within a few songs, holding onto her hand so they don't get separated in the tangled mass of other kids. She stares at him for a little while, nose scrunched up, but starts bouncing in place a little with him in time to the beat.

  
“Super lame,” she mouths, and he can't help but agree. But he makes a big show of it either way. He gets a few good smiles from her with the ridiculousness of his dance moves alone. And she manages to step on his toes five times in one song and he just has to be amazed because that has to be a skill.

  
The DJ announces a slow dance halfway through the night, and how did he not think about this? He half expects her to go find one of their more popular classmates, but he figures that’s just a bit of remaining trauma from Jenny Gildenhorn.

  
They stare at each other for a few seconds of uncertainty before deciding that sure. They step closer, her hands coming up to the back of his neck and his coming to her waist. He thinks about making a mockery of the whole thing, spinning them around the room dramatically. But she smells really good and it’s a moment that he doesn’t really want to ruin.

  
“Just don’t move your feet,” he instructs, smirking at her. She smiles back apologetically and keeps her feet on the ground. He sways them side to side a little, but it’s mostly just this really long hug and she leans her head against his shoulder.

  
Her hair smells really nice and that's a weird thing for him to notice but he does. Her hair brushes the back of his hand and he wants to run his fingers through the perfectly neat curls.

  
He wraps a single strand around his finger and she glances up at him, with a Look. He feels his heart ram into his throat.

  
“I wish,” he says, quietly, almost hoping she can't hear him but it's like the world stops for a second. “I don't know. That I didn't make the bet.”

  
“Was studying really that terrible?” She asks, teasingly but softly.

  
“Yes, but also… I wish I could ask you out for real. Romantic stylez. You know with a ‘z’,” he admits.

  
She kisses him, hands coming up from the back of his neck to hold the sides of his face. He tugs her closer, closing his eyes, not the best idea on the crowded dance floor.

  
A hand taps on his shoulder and he pulls away, spins around to come face to face with their history teacher.

  
They get kicked out of prom. Jake is laughing way too hard. Amy looks horrified and they end up on the steps of the gym facing the cool night air.

  
“You got us kicked out of prom,” Jake gasps out, hand on his chest. “Amy Santiago, you rebel. You got us kicked out of prom for PDA.”

  
“Shut up,” Amy says and kisses him again. He stops laughing, but keeps smiling a little, making the kiss a little uncomfortable. Her hands come up to his shoulders again and he buries his hand in her hair.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As always I love hearing constructive criticism and also what you liked about it so please feel free to leave me comments below. I hope you enjoyed it!


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